More than Illusions
by Prose Vanity
Summary: Part of my May Madness. More than once you've thought about the possibility of her being no more than a dream, but at three in the morning, you find your conclusion. Of course. Of course she's real.


**Ashy-note **This one is in response to a GA Open Writing Challenge. Made simply because I got too inspired. Still part of my May Madness. (:

This _could_ actually be considered a sequel to my other oneshot, _Just Another Night._ So yes, there are points of references to that fic. (:

-:|:-

**More than Illusions**

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><p>She stirs beside you and you fumble your grip just so you could keep her in place. You wouldn't want her to run away now, not when you're feeling so warm beside her.<p>

You look at the glaring red numbers that shone in the darkness of your room: 3:16 AM; barely an hour's sleep since she barged in. You smile a little at the memory then close your eyes to fall back into slumber, but somehow you couldn't find your way to Dreamland anymore.

She moans and grunts a little, then murmurs something that goes along the lines of, "_Let… go of that… hm… stupid manga freak… gimme — that manga… look at… me…_"

Then, "_Pervert…_"

You tighten your hold around her and climb higher in the bed, so that her head is cradled between your chin and chest.

You marvel at the sight that is her. Her small frame, her pale, rosy skin… your fingers trace her arms and you watch amusedly as goosebumps erupt in them. Then you fix your dark red eyes on the soft flow of long, golden brown hair that spread all over the sheets—how many times have you burned them again? You couldn't really recall, you've lost count some two or three years ago… not that it matters, but you think it had always been fun watching her consistent reaction to your similarly-consistent prank.

She moans something that sounds disapproving even to your ears, and then she starts her muttering again.

"_No… Koko… Permy… perfect… you and me… we are…_"

The sound of her voice saying you're perfect for each other—you think there could be no other sound sweeter than that…

Except maybe when she calls you name…

Or says "baka" or "pervert" at you (it sounds of even to your own ears, but oddly you really like it when she calls you names)…

Or when she laughs her silvery, carefree laugh…

Or when she says I love you…

Okay, fine, maybe it isn't _the _sweetest. It's a little complicated, but you really think hearing her talking in her sleep about something that concerned both of you is just… well, it's just priceless.

She stirs and turns over so that her face is suddenly pressed against your chest. You feel the warm spurts of her breath and then gently, you lower yourself again so you could be face to face with her.

She smiles. And then you do, too. It has become a default reaction of yours already — every time she smiles, you couldn't help yourself from doing just the same. Incomprehensible, highly irrational, but you let it be. Besides, it feels so _nice_ to smile.

The darkness around you is lit only by the solitary ray of feeble moonlight that streams through the small gap between your drapes, but through it you could see her face, still arranged in a somewhat breathless smile.

You drag a finger across her chin lightly. She shivers, probably from your warm touch.

That innocent, sweet face… You find yourself whispering to her.

"Are you for real?"

Her forehead scrunches up for a moment and you think she heard you, but she went back to her relaxed face again before you could give it further thought.

She mumbles. She's dreaming…

You wonder what it is she's dreaming about.

Then you think of the one question you've just asked of a sleeping Mikan; being the rational being that you are, you seek and scavenge your head to find your own answer to that, but to no avail. Part of you says she is, the other says she's only a figment of your desperate imagination, an illusion, and that soon you'll wake up back in your ten-year-old body and you wouldn't see her when you attempted to escape, because she never came to school to find Imai that one day because, in the first place, she was _real_.

Then you'll have to relive all six years of your life_ all over again_. Without her.

You wonder why you have to be so gloomy over everything, but then it's clear as crystal to you anyway. Because _of course_, that bright side to your thoughts _had_ to have some kind of opposition from your true self—the one that was with you since before she arrived (because frankly, _she_ was the only reason why you had managed to think happy thoughts anyway).

_You_ are Natsume Hyuuga. Your nature is pessimism.

It feels (and perhaps, would _always _feel) too _perfect_ for you. It was too perfect that you couldn't shake off the feeling that anything bad can happen anytime. It felt as if she's too fragile, too soft for you and for the whole damn world in general. She still has this ethereal effect on you, even after six years… even after you've witnessed what she could really stand up for, what her guts could really do.

And that idea, that belief… that's why you hold on to her — and to _every moment_ with her — like a child would the last few edges of the strings of his balloon.

And yet you hold on but you're torn between keeping it and letting go. You see, you think if you held on to that balloon, it would only pop, or slowly deflate over time. But at least, if you let it go, it could be free to roam the skies, and it wouldn't disintegrate in your possession. It would die free, it would pop without anything causing its popping, other than the natural reasons.

Alongside that is the fact that you have this fear, this undeviating fear, that somehow, someday, she'll leave you, and she'll realize that you were never as great as she thought you were.

It spun your heart into fine threads of black ore.

You breathe out deeply, causing little hairs on her forehead to flutter gently and tickle her face; your mind is suddenly in overdrive: Where were all these thoughts coming from? What _are_ you thinking, relating balloons to holding on to her?

Your hands rest lightly on her neck instead, and you just watch and watch and _watch_ her sleep soundly…

Then you remember her smiles, and you recall the bliss in her eyes that shone with the very contentment that radiated from her body and poured out of her pores whenever you're together, and the optimism shoots back to life.

_Of _course_ she's real_, you think to yourself, and your mood lightens in an instant. Because really, that sunny part of her has been stuffed too deep into your nervous system that even as you think of the chances now, you can't help but think less of the future and more of the present.

You barely notice she's awake already, also watching you intently as you stare blankly at her face.

"Natsume?" you hear her sigh. "What are you thinking about?"

The reality of the moment came crashing down on you like an avalanche of boulders—as it always did when you thought of her.

Your hands find hers and you kiss it gently.

"Natsume?"

You close your eyes and breathe in her scent.

_Of course she's real._

"Hey." You feel her warms hands against your cheek and you smile contentedly.

How could you be so stupid to think she isn't real?

_Of course she's real._

"Hey, answer me," she says to you, pressing her hand harder on your cheek. Your eyes open slowly and you look at her worried face and smile.

"I was thinking if you really _are_ real," you whisper back at her.

For a moment her eyes widened in surprise, then her gaze softens, and she leans forward to plant a short, sweet kiss on your lips.

You savor the feel of those lips pressed against yours…

_Of course…_

_Of course she's real._

"What do you think now?" she asks you. "Do you still think I'm a dream?"

You smile lazily at her before kissing her forehead and scooping her into a tight, warm embrace.

"No," you tell her as you closed your eyes—you suddenly felt drowsy again. Drowsy-happy. "Of course you're real."

She murmurs her assent then cuddles closer to you.

You sigh.

"Of course you're real."

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><p><em>Ahm. Review, maybe? :D<em>

_~pV_

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><p><strong>-: Post-Script :-<strong>

Just to irk her, you whisper again.

"Your breath stinks, Polka."

She hits you sleepily, and you laugh a little, but then you fall into what was so far the sweetest sleep you've had.


End file.
